


Three to Tango

by orphan_account



Series: Better with Three [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn, Smut, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade worries about how their relationship will make it in London, Sherlock solves a murder and John makes tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three to Tango

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the delectable [Holes in the Sky](http://theresholesinthesky.tumblr.com).

"Sherlock, we've only been in London for twenty minutes, how on earth have you managed to find a murder to solve already?" Lestrade said.

Sherlock looked at him, expression pained. "I've been trapped in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do for _three days_."

"Nothing to do?" John said, amused. "Did we just spend the last three days shagging the wrong bloke, then?"

Sherlock looked up from his phone for long enough to press a perfunctory kiss on John's lips.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock said dismissively. "I spent the last three days having perfectly acceptable sex with adequately skilled partners. This though, is _interesting_."

"Adequately skilled?!" Lestrade protested. 

"You can't tell us you've been _bored_." John said, smirking.

Sherlock made a noise of frustration. "You show great potential for future improvement," he said to Lestrade, then gave him a similar kiss. "Stop fishing for compliments." He turned to John, saying, 

"You weren't dull, stop being tedious. This is _The Work_ , you know that's what I live for. What _we_ live for." Rolling his eyes, Sherlock muttered to himself, "I thought you two could annoy each other, not gang up on me."

John laughed and said, "Go on then, who's been murdered?"

Sherlock gave them an outline of the facts, eyes lighting up and John felt himself grow excited, understanding what Sherlock had meant by 'interesting'. Crime solving ignited the blood in a very different way to sex. It was thrilling and dangerous and intensely real.

Sherlock's monologue was abruptly interrupted by Lestrade bursting into laughter. Sherlock glared at him.

"I hardly think finding an eighty-three year old woman dead in your bath is that amusing," Sherlock said.

"Sorry," Lestrade gasped, visibly working to calm himself down, "I just - did you really just tell me I was adequately skilled in bed, had room for improvement, but wasn't as interesting as the deaths of two geriatrics and then told me that I need to stop _fishing for compliments_? Christ, what have I got myself into."

To Sherlock's annoyance, John started laughing too.

"He did," John said. "He really did."

Lestrade and John collapsed into a fresh wave of giggles and Sherlock scowled at his phone, jabbing roughly at the keys. John sobered and tugged one of Sherlock's hands free, interlacing their fingers.

"Come on, tell me more," John said. "How do you know their neighbour needs money?

Sherlock did a bit more scowling before slowly launching into his explanation, growing more enthusiastic in response to John's smiles and praises. Lestrade watched them fondly, determinedly not thinking about how much work this was going to create for him.

Lestrade had worried about things being awkward between the three of them as they transitioned their relationship from a holiday setting back into their London lives, recalling vividly the difference between a romantic carefree and sex-filled version of reality that came with a holiday, to the fight-fuelled, stressful misery of the everyday.

The first few days were caught up with Sherlock's murder. It had turned out to involve an incredibly complicated life-insurance scheme and left Lestrade trawling through documents and liaising with the fraud squad, not out playing undercover and interrogating suspects as John and Sherlock were. Not that Lestrade could admit to knowing this, of course. By the time they caught the main perpetrator, five days after their return, Lestrade had seen little of John and Sherlock, and not at all in any sort of romantic or sexual context, so he was beginning to think the long weekend was it, an anomaly, a small prologue to John and Sherlock's relationship, and an epilogue to whatever it was he had with Sherlock and wanted from John. He tried to shrug it off, be grateful for the three days of great sex and pleased for two of his mates, but there was no stopping the huge lurch in his stomach when he thought about it.

His fears were allayed, however, when Sherlock dragged him from the scene of Hanson's arrest, ignoring his protests that he needed to clear things up for the DI who was actually in charge. John smiled at him as he was shoved in to be sandwiched between the two, tired and wane, but fond, and Lestrade's protests died in his throat. It was slightly overwhelming in his exhausted state when Sherlock slumped into him, resting his head on Lestrade's shoulder and John grabbed one of his hands, giving it a squeeze before massaging the palm. John directed the cabbie to 221b and they rode in companionable silence, too tired to talk. When they arrived, Sherlock dragged Lestrade out of the car, as though there was no question of Lestrade not coming. Sherlock was nearly swaying with exhaustion by this point, but after John unlocked the door to the flat, Sherlock weakly pressed Lestrade up against the wall and started kissing him sloppily. When Lestrade tried to return the kiss and coax it into something with more finesse, Sherlock simply moved down to mouth at Lestrade's neck. John, who had made it far enough inside to collapse into his armchair, started laughing.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked awkwardly. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock looked up in surprise. "We're having sex, obviously."

"No we're not," John said.

"Of course we are," Sherlock said. "I just solved a case. Shouldn't we have sex to celebrate?"

"No," John said.

"Why not?" Sherlock said.

"Because you haven't slept for five days," John said.

"I'm not tired," Sherlock protested, irritated when his body decided that was the perfect time for a yawn. "I'm full of adrenaline," He stifled another yawn. "My understanding is that adrenaline-fuelled sex," Another yawn, "Is of superior," a fourth yawn, "Quality."

Lestrade gripped Sherlock's arms and walked him through the lounge and kitchen, heading for Sherlock's bedroom. 

"Lestrade agrees with me!" Sherlock called out as he was pushed onto the bed and Lestrade began undressing him.

"Come quickly or you'll miss out on some slightly better than average sex!" Lestrade added.

"Enticing!" John called back.

"We're not having sex," Lestrade said. "You are about to collapse."

"Oh," Sherlock said, sounding disappointed. Lestrade pressed a kiss onto his forehead. 

"Maybe when you wake up," Lestrade said soothingly. 

"Can I get in on that, too?" John asked, walking past Lestrade to flop down down on the other side of Sherlock.

"Ah, John, good," Sherlock said, batting Lestrade's hands away and rolling over to place a sloppy kiss on the side of John's mouth. "Lestrade is playing hard to get. Seduce him for me."

John realigned their mouths and kissed Sherlock very softly. 

"I'll have words with him in the morning," John said. "Sleep now."

Sherlock grumbled a protest, but between them, John and Lestrade managed to undress him and settle him in to sleep.

 

Lestrade awoke the next day to the very pleasurable sensation of something warm and wet engulfing his cock. He groaned appreciatively and stretched his arms out sleepily before reading out a hand to settle in long, thick curls.

"Oi!" John said. "Why does he get woken up with a blow job?"

Lestrade's eyes snapped open, but to his relief, John's eyes were glinting with mischief. Sherlock removed himself to say,

"He was asleep, it was boring," before moving back to mouth at Lestrade.

"I was asleep and you tried to smother me and then demanded tea!" John said. Sherlock sighed and sat up.

"I did not try to _smother_ you," Sherlock said.

"You pinched my nose and covered my mouth!" John said.

"But I wasn't trying to kill you," Sherlock said. "It was simply an expedient way to wake you."

"Well, next time I think I'll take the blow job, ta," John said. 

"But I wanted _tea_ ," Sherlock said.

"Which I would have been happy to make you," John said.

"Not before you orgasmed," Sherlock said. "And that takes ages."

"So why are you now blowing Greg?" John said.

"Because I _have_ tea," Sherlock said, pointing to the mugs on the tray John was carrying. "And I will soon want sex." 

Lestrade laughed, unsure what else to do with this absurd situation, and with a roll of his eyes, John joined in. Sherlock huffed at them and reached for his tea, which John handed over along with a cup for Lestrade and they sat drinking tea in silence, Lestrade naked from the waist down.

"Good morning," John said to Lestrade. "I'd have taken longer with the tea if I'd know what Sherlock was doing," he added apologetically.

"Precisely why I didn't tell you," Sherlock said. "Who wants to be drinking cold, oversteeped tea?"

"I don't think I would have minded," Lestrade said. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"If you start making terrible tea because you are distracted by sex, I will simply have to saturate your system so the novelty wears off," Sherlock said decisively, sipping his tea.

"Fine by me," Lestrade said.

"I can't decide if that is the worst threat in history," John said. "Or a really terrifying idea."

Sherlock grinned at him, catlike, all teeth and bright eyes, and John laughed, putting his tea down and taking Sherlock's away so he could pounce on him, pinning him to the bed and kissing him thoroughly. Lestrade downed his own tea and moved so he was close enough to kiss down the nape of John's neck. He quickly encountered fabric and so tugged John's vest off to reveal more skin. This meant that John had to briefly stop kissing Sherlock, long enough for him to complain, "I didn't finish my tea! It's going to get cold."

"Fine," John said, sitting back and turning to kiss Lestrade. 

Sherlock sprung up and reached for his mug, savouring the flavour, and then finishing John's off as well. By this time, Lestrade had lain John down and was kissing and sucking down his chest, John moaning contentedly and running his hands through Lestrade's hair. Sherlock moved in, grabbing at the waistband of John's pants and saying, "Up!" 

John lifted his hips obediently and Sherlock pulled his pants swiftly off and tossed them aside, hands moving in to explore newly exposed skin, pulling teasingly at John's cock and skimming over his hips and thighs, dipping fingers down over his balls and rubbing thoughtfully at his hole. Lestrade slid a hand down to join him, his movements more deliberate, and John's hands clenched in Lestrade's hair as he panted out, "Lubricant."

Sherlock grinned at him, reaching over to rummage through the bedside table's drawers, throwing a condom at Lestrade and making a noise of delight when he found the bottle of lubricant. He slathered some on his hands and John gave a startled yelp when cold, sticky fingers started probing, making Lestrade laugh.

"You could warm it up first," John said, squirming as a long finger eased into him.

"Boring," Sherlock said, smirking as John let out another cry when he brushed over his prostate.

"Pinch him for me?" John said, panting and twisting his hands in the sheets. "I can't quite reach."

Lestrade grinned and obliged, giving Sherlock's arse a sharp pinch, ignoring the glare Sherlock sent him in favour of trying to remove Sherlock's pants. When that proved awkward, he sat back, enjoying the sight of John writhing on the bed.

"Done," Sherlock announced, removing his fingers and wiping them on the latex covering Lestrade's cock and then sitting back expectantly. Lestrade moved to sit between John's thighs, lifting his hips and resting him on his thighs, smiling softly down at him. John lifted himself up on his elbows and Lestrade leaned over him so he could kiss him, moaning into his mouth as he slid inside. They stayed like this, Lestrade suspended over John, John running his hands down Lestrade's sides, both panting out small laughs as they took the time to simply enjoy and adjust to the sensation of being joined in this way. Too much time according to Sherlock.

"Bored!" Sherlock announced, shoving a hand in between them to tug at John's erection, fingers moving to irritate and tease rather than please. Lestrade sat up again, held John's hips and started moving, John's legs wrapping around him. Lestrade laughed, saying,

"We stopped keeping his mouth busy."

Lestrade rolled his hips and John groaned, reaching an arm out to pull Sherlock down.

"Something distracted me," John said, grinning before kissing Sherlock.

They settled into a rhythm, Lestrade alternating between slow, deep slides and short, sharp thrusts that left John gasping into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock pulled and teased and coaxed John's cock, keeping him moaning with pleasure, but not bringing him near the edge. John slipped a hand into Sherlock's pants to stroke shudderingly at Sherlock's cock, enjoying feeling it twitch and throb, and not stopping kissing Sherlock for long enough to let him complain about this teasing.

Lestrade came first, groaning with deep satisfaction before pulling out, dealing with the condom and unwrapping John's legs so he could flop down beside him, nosing at John's shoulder and mouthing lazy kisses. In the time it took Lestrade to do this, Sherlock had whipped off his pants and thrown himself on John, roughly lining up their hips and started wriggling and thrusting. John laughed at the sensations the strange angle caused and slid a hand down to adjust them, starting to feel delightfully overstimulated. He was unsurprised when his orgasm built quickly and he spilled over his hand and their cocks, sagging into the bed with a pleased sigh. Sherlock finished soon after, flopping on top of John.

They lay in satisfied silence, occasionally exchanging sleepy kisses or simply mouthing at whatever bit of skin was available, John complaining that the other two seemed to still have shirts on. When the afterglow wore off enough for them to become aware of how sticky and sweaty they were, Sherlock sent Lestrade off for a washcloth, claiming he'd had the longest time to recover. Lestrade refrained from pointing out that this logic didn't seem to apply when Sherlock came first. John sat up and reached for his tea.

"You've drunk my tea!" he said, looking down into the empty mug unhappily. 

"Make more," Sherlock said. Then, realising that would involve John getting up, wrapped his arms around John and nuzzled his chest. "No, don't. Stay."

Once they had cleaned off, they lay in bed, tangled up together, talking about the case. John told his and Sherlock's side, grinning and growing more animated even as he was continually interrupted by Sherlock's haughty corrections and Lestrade's sighs of, "I didn't hear that." and "I really don't fancy the paperwork involved in arresting someone based on post-coital confessions."

Lestrade's side of the story was less action packed, but John appreciated finding out in more detail than, "a man's life is at stake, obviously" as to why he had spent hours posing as an orderly, doing incredibly boring work before wrestling an angry Austrian being chased by Sherlock.

The conversation drifted away from the case, through anecdotes of the more ridiculous things they had seen and done in their time dealing with criminals, into war stories, rugby tales, nightmarish patients and ridiculous university days, and they laughed about the endless madness that came from living in Sherlock's orbit.

Lestrade eventually dragged them out of bed, trying yet again to make Sherlock understand the importance of giving statements and filing reports, pleased to experience only a small amount of sulking and protesting.

They spent the day doing what Sherlock saw as the "boring" and "completely unnecessary" part of crime solving. He got wound up as people failed to follow his leaps of thought, needing John to step in and diffuse the situation while he sulked and glared at everyone who wasn't John or, Lestrade was touched to notice, himself. 

The hours passed much faster than Lestrade was used to, finding amusement in the omissions in John and Sherlock's stories, the absurd lies they told to cover up or explain how they gained information, enjoying for once being in the know. It was also harder to get too frustrated with Sherlock when his head was full of memories of Sherlock writhing in pleasure, shuffling closer in sleep. John kept sending him fond glances when Sherlock was particularly annoying, and pressed up against him when they passed in a hallway, whispering in his ear that he could still feel him from that morning, which didn't hurt.

As soon as they finished, Sherlock stalked out of the building, demanding that the other two keep up. Lestrade looked around, conscious that there were a lot of people he wasn't ready to tell about whatever it was that was going on between them, and others who might think it was compromising his work. They had been careful to arrive separately this morning, but apparently Sherlock had forgotten this, deleted it as unimportant.

"Sherlock," he hissed. Sherlock looked at him and then rolled his eyes.

"Good evening, Inspector," he said. "If that will be all, John and I will be off."

Lestrade nodded, relieved Sherlock wasn't going to push anything tonight at least. "That's all. Thank you."

John grinned and shook his hand. "A pleasure, as always."

Sherlock swept John out of the building and into a taxi he summoned, and Lestrade felt a small pang of jealousy. It was too soon to announce this odd relationship to the world, and it might never be something he could announce at work. It was ridiculous to wish he had let Sherlock chivvy him out, especially when his phone light up a few moment later with a perfectly innocuous text from Sherlock with the address for a restaurant. Lestrade let himself smile and rolled his shoulders, shaking out his arms and headed for the tube.

Hours later, tipsy and tired they stumbled into 221b, clumsily stripping off and tumbling into bed. Sherlock plastered to John's side and Lestrade curled behind Sherlock, an arm thrown over Sherlock's waist, hand stroking absently at John's belly. He was mostly asleep when John grabbed his hand to place a soft kiss in his palm before asking,

"So, does it still make sense now we're in London?"

"Logic does not change with geography," Sherlock said sleepily, rolling over to snuffle at Lestrade's neck. Lestrade smiled and stroke a hand through Sherlock's hair, reaching out to twine his other hand in John's.

"Yeah, still makes sense."


End file.
